His Greatest Operation
by rhapsodybree
Summary: Michael Westen was not supposed to find himself in this position. He was a spy for chrissakes. And yet here he was strapped to the floor with a pregnant Fi nearby. Great. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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Michael Westen was not supposed to find himself in this position. He was a spy for chrissakes. And a bloody good one at that too it must be mentioned.

And yet here he was cuffed spread-eagled to the floor, movement limited by the iron shackles pressing into his wrists and ankles.

If it had only been him, he wouldn't be that worried (muchly) but there was another form tied to the ground close by him: Fiona. And did he mention that it was a hugely pregnant due-any-day-now Fiona?

It wasn't supposed to be like this – but the initial plan was even worse...

He had served with Travis Macneill in the military some years ago – both of them working together on ops that would never be mentioned again – until Travis had died under unfortunate circumstances, through no fault of his own. But it would appear that Travis' younger brother Eoghan was not so understanding of the situation and had placed the blame of his brother's death fairly and squarely on him.

He'd known when the woman had approached him a few days ago with a request for assistance that something was off. That face – that figure – was familiar to him, and it's only now that he's tied down that he's kicking himself. Andrea Della Bosca – Travis' fiancée. How could he have forgotten that?

So now he was at the mercy of two psychotics who were hell-bent on revenge. He'd been advised that if they couldn't have the man they loved, then why should he be able to have the woman he did?

When they'd arrived at the house to take Fiona, she hadn't gone willingly – kicking and screaming and punching just like the good girl that she was – but unfortunately a slap across her cheek and a punch to her abdomen had subdued her. He wasn't part of the original plan: it was only his coincidental arrival home and the threat of Fiona and their unborn child being shot that meant he had gone willingly with Eoghan's two henchmen.

Arriving at their new 'home', he managed to twist his head so that he could see under his blindfold as they were both lead down countless corridors and up several floors. He deduced that they must be in an old hospital or an institution. As they got closer to their destination, he could see an assortment of equipment lining the walls.

When they'd first been pushed into this room and their blindfolds ripped off, he'd placed himself firmly in front of Fiona and made a quick assessment of the room. It was clear that they'd only planned on one prisoner, and thinking of the various implements he'd passed on the way, he had a feeling that the set up wasn't for a very pleasant experience. He could feel the shudder of Fi against his back, even as she kept a defiant look on her face.

And then the big man himself had made his arrival. He could see the family resemblance, and inwardly smirked at Eoghan's shocked look to find him there. Apparently his henchmen had gotten it wrong. Well, sucks to be them. But the thrill had quickly dissolved at Eoghan's next words. 'All the better: he can watch it live instead.'

He'd been pushed to the ground without ceremony and strapped into the cuffs, whilst Fiona had been strapped into some makeshift leather ones nearby.

'Let Plan A begin.' That was the last thing they heard before the door slammed shut.

Thankful at the very least they were just within grasp of each other – no doubt a plan in the sadistic mind of Eoghan to leave them close to each other as they neared an end at his hand – Michael looked over to his woman. He sure as hell didn't want her here, but as she was, he was sure as hell glad that he was too.

She was dressed in a pair of white shorts and a long flowing top that consisted of blue, green and white swirls that did very little to hide the fact that she was pregnant. Or the fact that she now had considerable boobs – a side effect he had thoroughly enjoyed (amongst other things) these past few months. He was decked out in pants and a loose shirt. It was Miami after all.

His mind was working at a mile an hour as he notes Fiona shifting uncomfortably. He couldn't let emotion cloud his mind, but as he looked at her, he couldn't help feeling scared. There was so much more at risk here.

Praying that if Fiona didn't go into labour, they might just stand a chance of getting out in one piece, Michael let his eyes drift off her form and look around the dark room they were in. A shaft of weak light came from a small window covered in bars several metres up the wall. There might be potential there.

Michael swore when seconds later Fiona uttered the words that he really didn't need to hear.

'My waters broke.'


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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_This was not happening now. _

Reaching out what he can of his hand to her, he refused to show any pain as she gripped his hand like hell. He needed to think fast. Fear was not an expression he thought Fi knew – and seeing it in her eyes frightened _him_.

The first contraction passed as she maintained her death grip on his hand. She threw her head back, eyes shut, as she winced through the receding pain. Opening his mouth to address this new circumstance, he swore when he heard the sound of the key in the lock. 'Don't let them know you're in labour.'

His eyes were drawn to her bottom lip as she bit down on the bruised flesh, sweat already running down her face, as she nodded her head in agreement. Satisfied, Michael knows that he needs to turn his attention to the new arrivals to put his plan into action – whatever plan that might be. He hadn't quite decided yet.

Fervently hoping that the bad lighting would prevent the two newly arrived henchmen from seeing any liquids or other indications as to the fact that his woman was in labour, his mind was already thinking at lightning speed the options he now had in front of him.

Participants in an operation were always subject to an hierarchy: from the top to the bottom. The boss man had his loyal 2IC and his No 1 henchman. Henchman No 2 was usually just called for when the operation began and more manpower was needed. If he wanted to have a chance of getting any information, he was going to need to start with No 2.

'Well about time we were graced with your presence,' spat out the fireball next to him. _This was not exactly what I'd had in mind to keep the attention off you Fi! _

Drawing attention off the madwoman beside him, he flashed his white teeth at the henchmen. 'So what's your name?'

He received a grunt in response from No 1, whilst No 2 looked to his superior as if seeking permission to answer the question.

'Any particular reason you're in here?' he continued conversationally, still receiving no response. Well, no verbal response at least as henchman No 1 then approached him and kicked him in the ribs, seriously winding him. _Steel cap boots – that just ain't fair._

Recovering his breath, he's behind the eight ball when Fi opens her mouth once again. 'That's how much of a man you are? Kicking your opponent when he's down?'

At best times, she couldn't keep her thoughts to herself, and it would appear that going into labour had dropped each and every last one of those barriers that may have prevented her from opening her mouth in another situation.

'Strap him up tighter.' That order was given with another kick – this time to his jaw, and he had to spit out the blood that followed as henchman No 1 then left the room. _Well at least they weren't dropping to the level of kicking a pregnant woman – no matter what garbage she was producing out of that mouth of hers. _

There was no time to lose. Cheering inwardly, Michael reckons there is hope yet and turns his attention to henchman No 2 who has now crouched down next to him and fiddling with the iron cuffs.

'It must suck being told what to do. That dude doesn't look like he was much faith in you does he?' said Michael with a smile that barely covered the fact that he was in pain as Fi suddenly squeezed his hand. 'But not me, I reckon you know something.'

'Damn straight I do,' was the response as No 2 then moved onto another cuff.

He tried a different tactic. 'On second thoughts, you couldn't possibly know anything. You're just a lowly henchman.'

Those were the magic words.

Henchman No 2 sputters for a moment or two before he begins to boast to Michael about the plan in all its grisly – and most helpful – detail. Apparently the original plan had been for the capture of the 'chick' who was going to be tortured and have various bits and pieces cut off before she probably, well died, and then a video of all that was going to be sent to him.

'So you're recording everything we do in here are you?' he said with an interested nod, not even wanting to think about the original plan and what it would have meant for him.

'In here?' was the incredulous response. 'Nah. Boss is a cheapskate and only set up cameras in the other room.' _Good to know. _

'So what happens now?' he prodded casually.

'Good question. All I know is that Bossman is changing that room. And it ain't looking pretty,' muttered No 2 as he stood once again.

'Thanks mate.'

'Ah sure,' was the suddenly nervous response, as if No 2 had just realised that he probably shouldn't have been saying all that he just did. 'I only told you that because you ain't getting out of here alive you know?'

'You think whatever you need to think to feel better,' said Michael with a winning smile as No 2 left the room. Door shut, he finally relaxed his wrists and ankles and turned his face to Fi. 'Which part of "keep your mouth shut" didn't you get?'

'You try lying here with an elephant sitting on you, and with the offspring of that same bloody elephant trying to get out of you in a hole that's the size of a pin and then you come talk to me,' was the fuming response as she let go of his hand. He was sure that if it was possible that she would have crossed her arms over her chest and huffed off in any direction that wasn't toward him.

'Hmm.' He was a wise man and wanted to keep his ability to procreate for just a little longer, so that was all he offered in response as Fi abruptly grabbed his hand once again.

He found himself panting with her – something he'd sworn he'd never do – as another contraction passed, before she turned her weary eyes to him, all anger momentarily banished. 'Please tell me you have a plan.'

'I have a plan.'


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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When Michael Westen said he had a plan, he was usually telling the truth and he did in fact have a plan. That the plan was not fully formed at that particular moment and may take time to be fully evident was irrelevant – but the one thing he had forgotten once again to factor into this 'plan' was the death grip of the woman next to him.

The first step of his plan involved him picking free her cuffs. As her restraining binds had been a spur of the moment instigation on their captors' behalf, they were all leather and were held together in a buckle. Each of her arms were held together by a double buckle: one buckle just below her shoulder, and the other at her wrist. He just needed _one_ buckle pin. Just one.

He had to ignore the pain and the chaffing that he knew his movements were causing upon himself as he tried to shift his body to the left and stretch out his left hand in order to get his fingers as close as possible to Fi's right cuff.

Gaining access to the buckle pin actually ended up being the easiest thing: it was the realisation that he'd put himself closer to Fi's hands that had been harder to accept. And he found out soon enough that she was taking good advantage of his closer proximity.

Slowly and painfully, he set about unbuckling Fi's cuff. The leather flap was extricated within seconds, and so now it came to the harder part. He had to exert the right amount of pressure and manipulation in order to get the pin free of its corresponding frame. Every time he got just close enough, he found himself losing his grip when Fi crushed his hand as she rode through another contraction.

He knew better than to complain – or even make the tiniest little comment on it – but he did send an internal memo to himself that he really needed to pick up the pace if he wanted to make progress before the next contraction came around.

Victory was finally his after an hour and a half of poking, prodding, squeezing, pushing, pinching and ripping. And so now came the hard part.

Fi's other cuff was positioned in such a manner on her upper arm that it was not possible for her to reach up her newly freed hand and unstrap herself. And so that left them with one other option – his cuffs. Unfortunately his own were positioned at such an angle that it wasn't possible for him to reach the hole that he needed using his own fingers and the pin, and so he now needed to rely on Fi to undo them for him.

It was slow going.

Over the next five hours – as the light shining through the grate became dimmer and dimmer – Fi worked at getting his cuff open. The henchmen would pop in suddenly at various times, and he would have to scramble to cover up Fi's loosened cuff, but thankfully they weren't particularly inclined to enter, just flashing them a cursory peek to check they were still there. As Fi fought through contractions, he had to keep her spirits up and concentration solid. He'd lost track of the insults and various curses that she was throwing his way and, honestly, he'd stopped listening. There had been a few occasions where Fi had dropped the pin – but thankfully it was still within reach.

The cuff finally fell open off at the same time that Fi let out the most quiet scream that she possibly could and he realised with horror that her screams were getting closer and closer. He snapped into action. With one hand free, it was only a matter of time before he had loosened his three other cuffs, wincing at the raw skin rimming his wrists and ankles.

Turning to Fi immediately he brushed her hair from her face and rubbed a hand over her rippling belly. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes. Any words of comfort that he could offer – or indeed any chances of unstrapping her – were brought to an abrupt halt when there was a movement in the hall and the door began to open.


End file.
